How you start a war
by raaly123
Summary: Summary: Russia and America love each other but are constantly separated by the wars and conflicts between them. Eventually, they start looking forward to the battles and wars since it is their only chance to see each other. But if it is that way, can you still call it love? Or were they meant to hate one another? Can the two stand the pressure, that constant You hate him ?


**Pairing: RusAme (Russia x America)**

**Disclaimer: -to my sorrow- I do not own Hetalia Axis Powers or any of the characters. If I did, RusAme would have been canon long ago.**

**Summary: An AU where Russia and America love each other but are constantly separated by the wars and conflicts between them. Eventually, they start looking forward to the battles and wars since it is their only chance to see each other. But if it is that way, can you still call it love? Or were they meant to hate one another? Can the two stand the pressure, that constant «You hate him»?**

**Inspired by the song «How to start a war»**

_This is not how you make love_

_This is not what we signed up for_

_This is not how it's meant to be_

_This how you start a war_

«This world is one big tragicomedy.

And we are the players.»

A tall blond figure whose uniform was no longer green— dyed with mud and dirt, burned at the corners— was standing in the middle of what you would probably call a battlefield— since it was all black, burned grass underneath the feet, rocky pits, probably from explosions— but only people with short memory could say that it always was like that because once, this chaos was a large sunny meadow, colourful flowers all around, the sound of a flowing river gently stroking the visiter's ear.

«Oh…» was the only thing America could let out, the only word he could allow himself to say while his eyes were studying what was one day a place he adored so much.

«America?» the word was pulled unnecessarily long, every syllable stressed as if it was an artwork, created especially for the name owner's ears. The blue eyes a bit dull, the called male turned his head around, slowly, without enthusiasm, however with a smile on his lips. A dead smile.

«Russia..» his word flew out like something between a groan and a moan, unwilling to leave their warm and comfortable house inside the nation's dry throat. If he only knew that this is what a war takes, maybe he would think twice before starting it. Not that he could change something, the war would start anyway, with or without America.

The taller man blinked a couple of times at his own name, violet eyes watchfully studying the younger nation. His legs were weak, nearly shaking, but despite that, America was standing still, high as always, his whole body representing the will to fight, he was unready to fall, not yet. Russia made a few wide slow steps toward the other, stopping just a half-meter in front of him. Those eyes that usually reflected the skies, were hollow. Although they both knew that those crystal orbs would be filled with joy soon, soon enough.

America was the first to speak, his voice surprisingly strong «Have you seen Germany?»

The older returned him a shake of head «No. Have not been in Berlin yet. Why are you asking?»

The blond looked away, eyes wandering across the bare ground. A couple of moments passed before he spoke again, a small silence that Russia didn't mind «He was barely conscious.. I don't think he was aware of what he was doing..» America let out a heavy sigh «I know I shouldn't say this but I feel sorry for him. It wouldn't be fair to blame Ludwig for what happened.»

The Russian paused, thinking about the heard words. It made sense, a huge sense «I know.» he answered finally «But he is the loser so it isn't up to him, deciding Germany's fate. I think it would be a clever decision to separate him and his brother. Japan is all yours, though.»

«I know.» The American bit his lower lip unconsciously, almost making it bleed from the pressure. His boss said that he had a small 'present' for Japan, an act of gratefulness for the incredible show in Pearl Harbor. America would never admit it but he was frightened— anxious to the point of disbelief— of what that, so called, present could be. He hoped so much that it wasn't a dissolution or even worse. Realising that he was silent for quite a lot of time, the blond nation added «To be honest I'm the tinniest bit scared of what may be done to him. Kiku doesn't deserve death, he's a good guy. He just… Chose the wrong side.»

Maybe it was just America's imagination, but he thought that, for a moment, Russia's lips twisted up the slightest bit. «That's… A heroic fear.» He noted softly, viola eyes meeting ice blue ones. The blond nation couldn't hold back a smile at the words. Yes, of course that was a heroically heroic fear of a heroically heroic hero! «You smiled.»

America let out a weak laugh. _Yeah, probably for the first time in quite a while._ «Dude, I thought.. We won, we freaking won! So.. Why don't I feel happy?»

«Were you happy after winning the Revolutionary War?» America shook his head, bitting on the bottom lip «And after winning the Civil War?» the same response «See? Nothing war causes brings happiness. Even victory.» America stayed silent for a few moments, thinking over the words heard from the older nation. He.. Never really looked at things that way. But it sounded right.

«…Russia?»

«Yes?»

«I… It's all over, right?» America's eyes were twinkling with hope, almost begging the other to agree, to approve his statement, to say that it was going to be alright, no more wars, never, that this war was the last and the worst, that nothing could go wrong from here, only good was waiting for them, for them all to come.

«I guess so.» Now it was undoubtable, Russia was clearly smiling, that cold, yet so warm, smile of his. So cruel, yet so honest, so childish and innocent, yet so deep and knowing.

«Then.. Does it mean that we can finally..?»

«I don't know, America.» The blond's heart skipped a beat at those words. What was he meaning by that I don't know of his? «I don't know.»

America's leg— that was already half way up, ready to step closer— returned to its place, still on the ground. «Oh. I get it. I think.» A lot of time passed in silence until they finally separated, each going in his own direction. Radically opposite directions.

«Russia…?» The word, meant to be a yell, came out as a weak whisper. No, not a broken one, a confident strong whisper, said in a desperate tone, like the gloomy skies above, hopelessly grey even though one day they will become bright again. America's gloved fingers ran across the cold metal surface beyond which he couldn't see. Again, so tragicomic. It was just a curtain, a light piece of colourful fabric that people usually pushed aside when they were tired of the night darkness, wanted some light in the room. However, it was an iron curtain, hard and still, physically impossible to be pushed away with one movement of a hand. The Iron Curtain.

«America?» The voice coming from the other side was almost unrecognisable, dead and emotionless— or maybe that was what the barrier did to it?— but the owner of the said name recognised it without any problems, so deep it was curved into his heart and mind.

«R..Russia! I—»

«No.» The word, one syllable, a combination of a consonant and a vowel, cut through the air like knife through bare flesh. «It's a cold war. The one who loses his coldness, loses the war.»

The blond looked down, bitting on his lower lip. He was right, of course Russia was right. The young nation wondered what was the expression on his face, over the curtain, the iron curtain. «I want.. I want to see you.»

There was a long pause on the other side, a silence they both didn't mind, before the Russian finally spoke «Korea.»

«Huh?»

«Korea.» The albino repeated that name, as if it explained everything.

«Korea… Korea.» America nodded slightly, even though the other couldn't his movement. Korea.

It was raining, cold drops falling down, wetting everything on their way, the white strands of Russia's hair, his once warm coat and even the military uniform underneath it, making it even heavier than it usually was.

«What are we waiting for, aru?» Russia's dull violet crystals hadn't moved toward the short Chinese, hadn't looked at him properly while he explained slowly that they were waiting for America and South Korea to come and that, yes, it was necessary, diplomatic and political circumstances. Formally called- negotiations.

Moments passed, seconds formed minutes, minutes that lasted never ending hours, seeming only longer with all the rain around— or maybe the opposite, the rain turned thicker and almost infinite because of the time that seemed to stop— that way or another, at a certain point two silhouettes started forming between the wall of raindrops; one quite short, following behind with small, hesitating steps, as if he was lost, not knowing where to go next; the second one tall and wide shouldered, walking confidently toward an invisible goal the location of which only he knew, eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses- that was America, undoubtedly.

The blond— although you could tell it only from knowing since right now his hair was more of a greyish tone— stopped suddenly, the only emotion on his face is emotionlessness. «Russia.» his voice, it was a tone he saved only for one person in the whole world, the best and worst of his enemies, the former ally, the greatest of communists, the one America's feeling to whom were completely messed up, hate and love altogether, no in between. Forever lasting chaos was the perfect way to describe it.

«America.» The older greeted him in the same tone, but slightly different, if a name was given to it, it would probably be "America's so-heroic tone: Russia's edition". But the white haired nation really had no interest in playing name-the-tone at that certain moment. Or at any other one. «China, can you leave us alone?»

You could see the indignation on the eldest's features, clear as the sky— not right now, though— displeasure and even—maybe…?— slight offense. Those Europeans always forgot, so buried in their wars, that it was actually his and Korea's business, not some entertainment for the two superpowers. While China wasn't a coward— no, he feared neither America, nor Russia. Not the slightest bit— he was wise enough to feel when it was the right time to give in. «Fine, but that's only because I'm nice, aru. North, come on.» And with a wave of hand, motioning to the younger of the two brothers to follow him, he was gone.

The second of the two Koreans looked questioningly up at America, waiting for any commands or orders. Without taking his eyes away from Russia, the blond answered «Yong, please wait for me at the nearest base. We are at the borderline now, it shouldn't be far from here.» The younger nodded quickly and without one more word, disappeared.

A second haven't passed since the two nations were left alone with each other and they were already glued together, a mix of raindrops and tears washing their pale faces as the mouths connected, forming a rough kiss, a silence they both didn't mind. Tongues tied together, tighter than fates, watery eyes awkwardly closed, truly a strange sight; if a third side looked at them right now, the victim of that disturbing incident wouldn't probably be able to tell whether they were trying to strangle each other or….

«This is not how you make love..» The words, muffled by the rain, were allowed to come out of America's throat and heart when the two finally pulled away, desperately gasping for air «..This is how you start a war.» Russia understood what the younger was talking about and America understood that he understood. A two-sided understanding toward each other. «This.. This isn't right. At all. It's all wrong.» What kind of love it was if the only way to love was war? Hurting one another _and_ other nations, those that had nothing to do with their conflict.

Russia lowered his sight, violet meadows meeting azure pools. He could tell exactly where were the tears on the younger's face, and where were the raindrops, and he knew that America could do just the same. Not that they weren't happy, the complete opposite, it was just that these moments were the only ones when both of the two could finally relax, letting out all the stress and fears, not hiding their anxiousness for once. «It's not that bad…» The white haired's lips curled in a smile, weak and small, yet sincerely honest. «Come on, try to say it.»

«Say what?»

«'I hate you'»

The American nation couldn't help but let a smile crawl onto his pale from the rain and constant stress face. He chuckled lightly, moving a bit closer, forehead leaned against the other's chest «I hate you..» he mumbled, somewhat sleepily, eyes peacefully closed, any sign of worry gone from the now happy features. Russia, in return, widened his smile, long fingers running through the wet goldish locks.

«No you don't.»

«This isn't right.» America's voice was cold, colder than usual, actually, it was colder than Russia ever heard him speaking before. Those were usually either cheerful yells or serious rambling. «What we are doing is wrong.»

Russia snorted at his comment, staying leaned on the wall behind him. Luckily, this time there was no rain so they could finally talk normally. However, it seemed like America clearly wasn't in the mood of 'talking normally'. «You are just mad because you know that you will lose this war.» The nation's tone was playful and mocking, somehow he grew to like picking on the American, it truly was an amusing sight, the clenched fists, his blond strands that covered those crystal eyes in attempts to hide anger or offense. Not this time.

The blond's eyes narrowed as he raised his head immediately «No.» he hissed angrily «Vietnam still isn't lost.» it took all the strength and willpower America had to not jump up, bursting into yells. One, two, three, four deep breaths. _Calm down, Alfred. _«I wasn't talking about that.» His closed eyes opened back, calmer than seconds ago. Bravo, America, outstanding courage. «We can't keep ruining the world, hurting other nations, just for our own sake. That's very unheroic.»

Russia's expression stayed blank, emotionless enough to hide his surprise and even more than just that. After a long pause in which they both just stared at each other, the albino looked away, complete lack of interest in every single movement. «Who cares, it's a war. If they aren't strong enough to fight back, their fate will be decided by those who can.»

America's lips squeezed tighter together, trying to make a hole in the other's overly tall body with his glare. Sighing once again, the blond nation leaned back on the opposite wall, arms firmly crossed against his chest. «You changed.» The words were thrown roughly at Russia's face without a warning or an explanation «You used to care more.»

«You used to care less.» The Russian wasn't any more gentle with his choice of comebacks «That hero show really starts getting on my nerves, A-me-ri-ca.»

The nation whose name was just said in that exclusively disgusting tone flinched unnoticeably, eyes widening «You know what?» America was calm, absolutely calm «You know what, Russia?» the calmness in his tone started breaking almost straight away «Why don't you go and _fuck yourself?!»_ those incredibly rude words were followed by a loud thud as the young nation kicked the first object his foot found on the floor «Ah?! How does that sound for a change?!» and with that, the American turned around on his heels, walking away dramatically.

To his disappointment, Russia never tried to stop him, never followed. Until America gathered the needed courage to glance back, he was already gone.

After that incident, their whole existence turned into an endless chain of proving to the other that they were better, anytime and at anything. Economically, militarily, diplomatically, politically, technologically, absolutely in any way or form. Even in the space.

« - 1 1»

«Men walk on moon»

«One step for a men…

A giant leap for mankind…»

The white papers of all the fresh articles exploded with big black letters, each edition describing the astonishing news in a different way but one thing was clear as glass: United States of America. Of _America._

Russia's hands unconsciously reached up toward his head, mercilessly clutching the white hair. It couldn't be, he was supposed to win this race, it was the Soviet's time to shine! Not America… Not again! The tall nation felt something heavy and wet blurring his vision, maybe those were tears, he neither knew nor cared. The Russian sunk into his armchair, head squeezed tightly between two hands. The walls around him suddenly seemed intimidating, the room too closed and stuffy. The walls, made of wooden planks, so lovingly decorated with proudly yelling articles about the Sputnik 1, sketches and drawings of different spacecrafts, even a couple of models standing peacefully on the surface of a large table. Was it all in vain? All the efforts? Until Russia finally found something he truly loved and desired, something that caused no harm to others, America had to take away even that? The only thing he ever treasured so dearly?! The tears finally found their way out, pouring down onto the morning newspaper like uninvited guests. No way it was true, it had to be a lie, it just had to… America was probably laughing right now.

Meanwhile, while the white haired nation was crying tears over America's success, that exact same American was sitting in his own room, eyes queerly red. His boss' voice kept echoing in the small head like a thunderstorm _«Alfred, I understand your urge to see the space but..» «..It's not a game, Alfred..» «..This is a serious mission that requires skill you don't have..» «..You are barely nineteen, Alfred..» «..No, please don't be upset..» «..Mr. Jones, please come back..» «Don't run away from your problems!»_ The American nation buried his face in a pillow, ignoring the knocks on his door. They could knock all they wanted but America was going to come out of his room only after being promised that he will see the space! God, what was winning the Space Race worth if he didn't get to see the stars, walk on the moon? What were those posters and models all around his room worth if someone else was doing it instead of him? Russia was probably laughing right now.

America was swinging his legs silently, holding onto a random metal handle on the nearest wall, doing his best to keep the body balance stable. Vance said that he shouldn't put on his helmet yet but the young nation just couldn't resist, the round glassy object that looked like an aquarium was too suggestive. Moreover, they were going to exit the spaceship soon enough anyway. And this time, 'they' meant not only him and the heroic Apollo crew, but also the Soyuz team together with… Yes, together with Russia. The blond bit his bottom lip nervously, the two hadn't talked since that one conversation during the Vietnam War. And now… America couldn't hold back a grin, he still found it hard to believe that the United States and the Soviet Union managed to pull this idea off, a joint U.S-Soviet space flight, who could possibly suppose! Good work guys, and England thought that it was ridiculous, ha!

«What are we smiling about?» America had no need to turn around, he could recognise the speaker in less time than Canada could finish a plate of pancakes with maple syrup, England could empty a bottle of alcohol, or France could get a girl's phone number; that thick accent, the rolling 'r' that only one language on earth had, that stupid manner to replace 'you' with 'we' at completely spontaneous situations only god knows why. Maybe that was how _his_ people spoke in _his_ country when trying to annoy somebody to death. Not this time, Russia!

The American pulled a cheerful expression over his rageful face «'Sup, dude!» he greeted with a wave of hand, an action he regretted immediately when his legs left the floor because _stupid gravity_ «I was just, eh..» America caught a grip on one of the long pipes that were all over and along the low corridor walls, desperately trying to return his balance «..Thinking about how cool it is to fly to the space for like, my second time already! Don't worry, I will show and explain you everything, I'm a hero after all!» He looked up to check Russia's expression, hoping that he didn't know the truth about, ahem, America's first, so called, flight to the space.

The older smiled knowingly, and for a moment the American thought he was going to tease him, raise an eyebrow with one of those stupid but painfully clever comebacks of his, but Russia didn't. He only chuckled inaudibly and took a step closer, hand reaching toward the younger's blond head. At first America squeezed his eyes, prepared to take an attack— he wasn't going to punch back, he was a hero!— but no pain came, only a sudden feeling of fresh air around him. The nation opened his eyes back, surprised to see the helmet that was once on his head in Russia's hands. «I can hardly hear you like that.» he explained quietly «Plus, that way you are going to waste all the air before going out to the space.» the white haired handed him back the aquarium-like helmet, hands traveling down toward the small safety belt around his hips. «Moreover, you put your space suit the wrong way, like this you will just die the moment we step outside.»

America grimaced, childishly sticking his tongue out, but let the Russian fix his suit. This or that way, he probably knew not less about the whole space thing, only the fact that Americans were the first on the moon didn't mean they made more researches or had that more knowledge. It just meant that they were…faster. And better. Of course. «If you're so clever, why wouldn't you just make your own spaceship and fly to colonise the moon or something?»

In return, the purpure eyed stroked his hair softly, stopping at the standing cowlick on purpose with a playful smile «Because I wanted to fly with you.» these words were said half teasingly, half honestly, and America wasn't sure which part was more believable. Which part he wanted to believe.

«Oi, shut up..» The blond muttered, shaking his head to remove the older's hand. However, the corners of his cheeks were lightly flushed. Not that Russia's weren't.

The rest of their flight was spent rather peacefully, especially the parts outside when they both were too amazed and astonished to fight or pick on each other. The endlessly deep blackness was so silent, only bright spots of light twinkling here and there, creating a carpet of stars all over the emptiness. And the earth, the earth suddenly looked so tiny and meaningless, as well as all their stupid political problems, all those wars and conflicts. None of the two nations was disappointed the slightest bit, everything was worth it, worth being here, being now. America thought he even teared up at some point, to his shame the spacesuit wasn't allowing him to erase the wet trail his tear left. He thought he saw Russia crying too, maybe only once, maybe only a little bit and with a smile, but it was enough.

That day, America swore, for his and the world's sake, that he was going to put an end to all the wars on earth, not allow a single one slip, only peace, that was it. And for Russia's sake too. For them all.

_«America, I understand your teenage desire to show off and save everyone and honestly, do whatever you want, I won't stop you. Just… Try not to drown in that heroism of yours, okay?»_

A bright grin lighted the nation's face as America sprinted through the gloomy corridor, passing carelessly the empty rooms, not caring to pay attention to the poor cupboard he almost knocked down, only continuing to run forward until he reached the wanted destination. The blond burst into a dark room, swinging its door open widely.

«I did it!» His azure eyes were sparkling with joy and victory as they landed on a familiar figure standing at the other end of the room. «Russia!» the said nation stayed still, his back turned to the American, front facing the window, refusing to look at the younger. «Russia, it ended, the war ended! No more conflicts, no more iron curtains and space races, only peace! The Soviet Union fell and—»

«Don't!» Russia's voice was harsh and unusually loud as he raised a fist, landing it on the window frame with a loud thud, which made all the nearest furniture in the room tremble for a moment. The older's shoulders were shaking slightly but America couldn't tell exactly if it was from tears or rage. or both. However, the next words left him no time to think about such trifles. «Suits you well, America.» The Russian's tone was quiet and calm again, eyes glittering with pure anger and pain as he slowly turned around to face the younger. No, he wasn't crying, he wasn't sad, Russia was simply furious, beyond furious. «Another heroic victory for the United States, isn't that what your brave act is?» and before the blond could at least open his mouth, the taller male stepped closer, heavy breaths making it clear how much effort it took to not jump and just strangle the other. «That was what you wanted from the beginning, wasn't it? A victory, America, you wanted to win, like always, make everyone dance to your music, smile sweetly as if they are your friends. You have no friends, America,» the younger flinched with every single time Russia pronounced his name, such a honest and sincere hate put into each syllable «superpowers like you and me have no friends, it's the time to grow up and choose already!» his voice became louder after every pronounced word, making America feel both shocked, hurt and angry altogether.

«Now, now, cut it out right there!» Before Russia's dangerously close fist could decide on moving even closer, America raised his own clenched hand, putting all the rage he felt into the sharp punch. Maybe he underestimated his own strength, and maybe it was the Soviet's dissolution that weakened the older nation, this or that way, the sudden hit made Russia step back, struggling to stay on his feet as the tall nation caught the damaged shoulder with one hand, teeth gritted tightly together. America's eyes widened slightly, he wasn't meaning to fight again, not at all. «Crap..» the blond looked down, bitting his lip «Sorry, I—»

«Don't apologise.» The American nation raised his head, staring with surprise at the older «That was what you wanted so why not? Go on, hit me even more, humiliate me until nothing is left. That's what you _always_ wanted, am I right, America?» the painfully rough, sour tone of Russia's emotionless voice killed America more than anything, it wasn't meant to be that way, it was never meant to end like this, it couldn't.

«R-Russia.. I.. that's not true..»

The other just snorted, lips twisting up in a spicy grimace «If you say so, your highness. The winner's words are a law. Now excuse me, this show makes me want to throw up. I don't need you to pity me.» the wave of aggressive sentences, so out of Russia's childishly sweet character, were followed by a loud sound of wide steps, wide enough to cross the room completely— not without bumping painfully into America's shoulder— and walk out of it, those steps still echoing as the albino started making his way through the corridor as fast as he could.

America stayed standing at one spot, without moving, not daring to look back at the distancing Russian, keeping his position long after the older left. Deep down, he knew that Russia was right. Even deeper down, he knew that Russia wasn't.

«This world is one big tragicomedy.

And we are the players.»


End file.
